“ROBERT STEPHENS.”
Poor deluded man! he believed that letters confided to the General Post Office administration could “tell no tales” during their progress from the sender to the receiver:—how miserably was he mistaken!
And here we may observe, that if the system of opening letters at the General Post Office were merely adopted for the purpose of discovering criminals and preventing crime, we should still deprecate the proceeding, although our objections would lose much of their point in consideration of the motive; but when we find—and know it to be a fact—that the secrets of correspondence are flagrantly violated for political and other purposes, we raise our voice to denounce so atrocious a system, and to excite the indignation of the country against the men who can countenance or avail themselves of it!
Numerous other letters were read upon the occasion referred to in this chapter; and their contents carefully noted down. The whole ceremony was conducted with so much regularity and method, that it proceeded with amazing despatch; and the re-fastening of the letters was managed with such skill that in few, if any instances, were the slightest traces left to excite suspicion of the process to which those epistles had been subjected.
It was horrible to see that old man forgetting the respectability of his years, and those four young ones laying aside the fine feelings which ought to have animated their bosoms,—it was horrible to see them earnestly, systematically, and skilfully devoting themselves to an avocation the most disgraceful, soul-debasing, and morally execrable!
When the ceremony of opening, reading, and resealing the letters was concluded, one of the clerks conveyed the basket containing them to that department of the establishment where they were to undergo the process of sorting and sub-sorting for despatch by the evening mails; and the Examiner then proceeded to make his reports to the various offices of the government. The notes of the despatch from Castelcicala were forwarded to the Foreign Secretary: the contents of the Banker’s letter to his father were copied and sent to the Chancellor of the Exchequer: the particulars of Miss Cecilia Huntingfield’s affecting epistle to her mother were entered in a private book in case they should be required at a future day;—and an exact copy of Robert Stephens’ letter to his brother was forwarded to the Solicitor of the Bank of England.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE 26TH OF NOVEMBER.
AS soon as the first gleam of morning penetrated through the curtains of the boudoir in the Villa near Upper Clapton, Walter leapt from her couch.
Conflicting feelings of joy and sorrow filled her bosom. The day—the happy day had at length arrived, when, according to the promise of the man on whom she looked as her benefactor, a grand event was to be accomplished, which would release her from the detestable disguise which she had now maintained for a period of nearly five years. The era had come when she was again to appear in the garb that suited alike her charms and her inclinations. This circumstance inspired her with the most heartfelt happiness.
But, on the other hand, she loved—tenderly loved one who had meditated against her an outrage of a most infamous description. Instead of hailing her approaching return to her female attire as the signal for the consummation of the fond hopes in which she had a few weeks before indulged,—hopes which pictured to her imagination delicious scenes of matrimonial bliss in the society of George Montague,—she was compelled to separate that dream of felicity from the fact of her emancipation from a thraldom repulsive to her delicacy and her tastes.
It was, therefore, with mingled feelings of happiness and melancholy, that she commenced her usual toilette—that masculine toilette which she was that day to wear for the last time.
“You ought to be in good spirits this morning, my dearest mistress,” said Louisa, as she entered the room: “the period so anxiously looked forward to by you has at length arrived.”
“And to-morrow—to-morrow,” exclaimed Walter, her hazel eyes lighting up with a brilliant expression of joy, “you, my excellent Louisa, will assist me to adorn myself with that garb which I have neglected so of late!”
“I shall be happy both for your sake and mine,” returned Louisa, who was indeed deeply attached to her mistress; “and when I see you recovering all your usual spirits, in a foreign land——”
“In Switzerland,” hastily interrupted Walter; “in Switzerland—whither you will accompany me, my good and faithful Louisa; and to which delightful country we will proceed without delay! There indeed I shall be happy—and, I hope, contented!”
“Mr. Stephens is to be here at ten, is he not?” said Louisa, after a short pause.
“At ten precisely; and we then repair forthwith to the West End of the town, where certain preliminaries are requisite previously to receiving an immense sum of money which will be paid over to us at the Bank of England. This much Mr. Stephens told me yesterday. He had never communicated so much before.”
“And this very afternoon it is your determination to leave London?” said Louisa.
“I am now resolved upon that step,” replied the lady. “You alone shall accompany me: Mr. Stephens has promised to provide for the groom and the old cook. Therefore, while I am absent this morning about the momentous business the real nature of which, by-the-bye, has yet to be explained to me, you will make all the preparations that may be necessary for our journey.”
This conversation took place while Louisa hastily lighted the fire in the boudoir. In a few minutes the grate sent up a cheering and grateful heat; and the flames roared up the chimney. The lady, with an elegant dressing-gown folded loosely around her, and her delicate white feet thrust into red morocco slippers, threw herself into her luxurious easy-chair, while Louisa hastened to serve up breakfast upon a little rose-wood table, covered with a napkin as white as snow. But the meal passed away almost untouched: the lady’s heart was too full of hope and tender melancholy to allow her to experience the least appetite.
The mysterious toilette was completed: and Walter descended to the parlour, attired in masculine garments for the last time!
At ten o’clock precisely Mr. Stephens arrived. He was dressed with peculiar neatness and care; but his countenance was very pale, and his eyes vibrated in a restless manner in their sockets. He, however, assumed a bold composure; and thus the profound anxiety to which he was at that moment a prey, was unnoticed by Walter Sydney.
They seated themselves upon the sofa, and looked at each other for an instant without speaking. Those glances on either side expressed, in the ardent language of the eye, the words—“This is the day!”
“Walter,” said Mr. Stephens, at length breaking the silence which had prevailed, “your conduct to-day must crown my designs with glorious success, or involve me in irretrievable ruin.”
“You may rely with confidence upon my discretion and prudence,” answered Walter. “Command me in all respects—consistently with honour.”
“Honour!” exclaimed Stephens impatiently: “why do you for ever mention that unmeaning word? Honour is a conventional term, and is often used in a manner inconsistently with common sense and sound judgment. Honour is all very well when it is brought in contact with honour only; but when it has to oppose fraud and deceit, it must succumb if it trust solely to its own force. The most honest lawyer sets chichanery and quibble to work, to counteract the chicanery and quibble of his pettifogging opponent: the politician calls the machinery of intrigue into play, in order to fight his foeman with that foeman’s own weapon:—if the French employ the aid of riflemen concealed in the thicket while the fair fight takes place upon the plain, the English must do the same.”
“I certainly comprehend the necessity of frequently fighting a man with his own weapons,” said Walter; “but I do not see to what point in our affairs your reasoning tends.”
“Suppose, Walter,” resumed Stephens, speaking very earnestly, and emphatical
ly accentuating every syllable, “suppose that you had a friend who was entitled to certain rights which were withheld from him by means of some detestable quibble and low chicanery; suppose that by stating that your friend’s name was George instead of William, for instance, you could put him in possession of what is justly and legitimately his due, but which, remember, is shamefully and most dishonestly kept away from him;—in this case, should you hesitate to declare that his name was George, and not William?”
“I think that I should be inclined to make the statement, to serve the cause of justice and to render a friend a signal service,” answered Sydney, after a moment’s hesitation.
“I could not have expected a different reply,” exclaimed Stephens, a gleam of joy animating his pale countenance: “and you would do so with less remorse when you found that you were transferring property from one individual who could well spare what he was never justly entitled to, to a person who would starve without the restoration of his legitimate rights.”
“Oh! certainly,” said Walter; and this time the reply was given without an instant’s meditation.
“Then,” continued Stephens, more and more satisfied with the influence of his sophistry, “you would in such a case eschew those maudlin and mawkish ideas of honour, which arbitrarily exact that a falsehood must never be told for a good purpose, and that illegitimate means must never—never be adopted to work out virtuous and profitable ends?”
“My conduct in assuming this disguise,” returned Sydney, with a smile and a blush, “has proved to you, I should imagine, that I should not hesitate to make use of a deceit comparatively innocent, with a view to oppose fraud and ensure permanent benefit to my friend and myself.”
“Oh! Walter, you should have been a man in person as well as in mind!” cried Stephens, enthusiastically. “Now I have no fears of the result of my plans; and before sun-set you shall be worth ten thousand pounds!”
“Ten thousand pounds!” repeated Walter, mechanically. “How much can be done with such a sum as that!”
“You expressed a wish to leave this country, and visit the south of Europe,” said Stephens: “you will have ample means to gratify all your tastes, and administer to all your inclinations. Only conceive a beautiful little cottage on the shore of the lake of Brienz—that pearl of the Oberland; the fair boat-women—the daughters of Switzerland—passing in their little shallops beneath your windows, and singing their national songs, full of charming tenderness, while the soft music mingles with the murmuring waves and the sounds of the oars!”
“Oh! what an enchanting picture!” cried Walter. “And have you ever seen such as this?”
“I have; and I feel convinced that the existence I recommend is the one which will best suit you. To-day,” continued Stephens, watching his compatriot’s countenance with a little anxiety, “shall you recover your rights;—to-day shall you oppose the innocent deceit to the enormous fraud;—to-day shall you do for yourself what you ere now stated you would do for a friend!”
“If you have drawn my own case in putting those queries to me,—if immense advantages will be derived from my behaviour in this affair,—if I am merely wresting from the hands of base cupidity that which is justly mine own,—and if the enemy whom we oppose can well afford to restore to me the means of subsistence, and thus render me independent for the remainder of my days,—oh! how can I hesitate for a moment? how can I refuse to entrust myself wholely and solely—blindly and confidently—in your hands,—you who have done so much for me, and who have taught me to respect, honour, and obey you?”
The lady uttered these words with a species of electric enthusiasm, while her eyes brightened, and her cheeks were suffused with the purple glow of animation. The specious arguments and the glowing description of Swiss life, brought forward by Stephens with admirable dexterity, awakened all the ardour of an impassioned soul; and the bosom of that beauteous creature palpitated with hope, with joy, and with excitement, as she gazed upon the future through the mirror presented by Stephens to her view.
She was now exactly in a frame of mind suited to his purpose. Without allowing her ardour time to abate, and while she was animated by the delicious aspirations which he had conjured up, as it were by an enchanter’s spell, in her breast, he took her by the hand, and led her up to the mantel-piece; then, pointing to the portrait of her brother, he said in a low, hurried, and yet solemn tone,—“The fortune which must be wrested from the grasp of cupidity this day, would have belonged to your brother; and no power on earth could have deprived him of it; for, had he lived, he would yesterday have attained his twenty-first year! His death is unknown to him who holds this money: but, by a miserable legal technicality, you—you, his sister, and in justice his heiress—you would be deprived of that fortune by the man who now grasps it, and who would chuckle at any plan which made it his own. Now do you comprehend me? You have but to say that your name is Walter, instead of Eliza,—and you will recover your just rights, defeat the wretched chicanery of the law, and enter into possession of those resources which belong to you in the eyes of God, but which, if you shrink, will be for ever alienated from you and your’s!”
“In one word,” said the lady, “I am to personate my brother?”
“Precisely! Do you hesitate?” demanded Stephens: “will you allow the property of your family to pass into the hands of a stranger, who possesses not the remotest right to its enjoyment? or will you by one bold effort—an effort that cannot fail—direct that fortune into its just, its proper, and its legitimate channel?”
“The temptation is great,” said the lady, earnestly contemplating the portrait of her brother; “but the danger—the danger?” she added hastily: “what would be the result if we were detected?”
“Nothing—nothing, save the total loss of the entire fortune,” answered Stephens: “and, therefore, you perceive, that want of nerve—hesitation—awkwardness—blushes—confusion on your part, would ruin all. Be firm—be collected—be calm and resolute—and our plans must be crowned with unequivocal success!”
“Oh! if I proceed farther, I will pass through the ordeal with ease and safety,” exclaimed the lady: “I can nerve my mind to encounter any danger, when it is well defined, and I know its extent;—it is only when it is vague, uncertain, and indistinct, that I shrink from meeting it. Yes,” she continued, after a few moments’ reflection, “I will follow your counsel in all respects: you do know—you must know how much we risk, and how far we compromise ourselves;—and when I see you ready to urge on this matter to the end, how can I fear to accompany you? Yes,” she added, after another pause, much longer than the preceding one,—“I will be Walter Sydney throughout this day at least!”
“My dear friend,” ejaculated Stephens, in a transport of joy, “you act in a manner worthy of your noble-hearted brother, I see—he smiles upon you even in his picture-frame.”
“I will retrieve from the hands of strangers that which is thine, dear brother,” said the lady, addressing herself to the portrait as if it could hear the words which she pronounced with a melancholy solemnity: then, turning towards Stephens, she exclaimed, “But you must acquaint me with the ceremonies we have to fulfil, and the duties which I shall have to perform, in order to accomplish the desired aim.”
“I need not instruct you now,” returned Stephens: “the forms are nothing, and explain themselves, as it were;—a few papers to sign at a certain person’s house in Grosvenor Square—then a ride to the Bank—and all is over. But we must now take our departure: the hackney-coach that brought us hither is waiting to convey us to the West End.”
Stephens and Sydney issued from the house together. The former gave certain directions to the coachman; and they then commenced their memorable journey.
Mr. Stephens did not allow his companion a single moment for calm and dispassionate reflection. He continued to expatiate upon the happ
iness which was within her reach amidst the rural scenery of Switzerland:—he conjured up before her mental vision the most ravishing and delightful pictures of domestic tranquillity, so congenial to her tastes:—he fed her imagination with all those fairy visions which were calculated to attract and dazzle a mind tinged with a romantic shade;—and then he skilfully introduced those specious arguments which blinded her as to the real nature of the deceit in which she was so prominent an agent. He thus sustained an artificial state of excitement, bordering upon enthusiasm, in the bosom of that confiding and generous-hearted woman; and not for one moment during that long ride, did she repent of the step she had taken. In fact, such an influence did the reasoning of Stephens exercise upon her mind, that she ceased to think of the possibility of either incurring danger or doing wrong;—she knew not how serious might be the consequences of detection;—she believed that she was combating the chicanery of the law with a similar weapon, the use of which was justified and rendered legitimate by the peculiar circumstances of the case.
The hackney-coach proceeded by way of the New Road, and stopped to take up Mr. Mac Chizzle at his residence near Saint Pancras New Church. The vehicle then proceeded to Grosvenor Square, where it stopped opposite one of those princely dwellings whose dingy exteriors afford to the eye of the foreigner accustomed to the gorgeous edifices of continental cities, but little promise of the wealth, grandeur, and magnificence which exist within.
The door was opened by a footman in splendid livery.
This domestic immediately recognised Mr. Stephens, and said, “His lordship expects you, sir.”
The three visitors alighted from the coach: and as Stephens walked with the disguised lady into the hall of the mansion, he said in a hurried whisper, “Courage, my dear Walter: you are now about to appear in the presence of the Earl of Warrington!”
The Mysteries of London Volume 1 Page 27